Thunder and Flowers
by stitcher2ficcer
Summary: Just before the journey. Hakkai gardens in a thunderstorm while Gojyo watches. Rated T for hints of something more than friendship.


**Thunder and Flowers**

_Written for Ro-Anshi for her birthday, July 2007_

Distant but persistent thunder drew Gojyo from half sleep, where hazy dreams brushed reality and slipped from his memory before being fully realized. The continuous rumble rolled over him for long minutes, like stormy waves striking a distant rocky shore, before he came awake enough to glance at the clock. Early yet, but later than the darkened sky had led him to believe.

He stacked his two worn pillows atop each other against the arm of the sofa, lit a cigarette, and slouched back against them. He smoked languorously, the growing nicotine buzz clearing his mind as he listened to the thunder slowly rolling closer, growing stronger. No rain yet. The threat of it had kept him in last night, playing cards with Hakkai; but it had done no more than spit, despite the intermittent thunder, lightning, and dark clouds that had passed over their small town on and off during the day and all through the night.

Hakkai would be frustrated. He had fretted at the windows and door all day yesterday, wondering whether he should haul water up from the stream for the gardens again or whether nature would do his work for him. The small patch of flowers he had planted outside the door his first summer here had expanded under his care, these three years, to well-tended gardens along the front of the house and in the small side yard. The perennials he had begged from neighbors that first year, and the straggly end-of-season leftovers he had bought for pennies from the vendors, were well-established now. Augmented by the variety of bright annuals he had patiently started in teacups placed on every window sill in late winter, they had painted the yard with constantly changing color every week since early spring.

Gojyo had seen little use for the flowers that first year. He had refused to let Hakkai bring them into the house, pleading allergies and insisting they were a nuisance. In fact, his roommate's small bouquets had reminded him too much of the ones he had picked for his stepmother as a child, only to have them thrown away or crushed underfoot, as unwanted a gift as he was unwanted a child. He had never spoken with Hakkai about that, beyond the one casual reference late one night when he'd come home drunk; but that had been enough. Hakkai had understood and respected his wishes.

By the second year, Gojyo could see that tending the plants was a therapy for Hakkai more essential even than his compulsive cleaning of the house and his caretaking of Gojyo. The life and color he brought to the yard seemed to balance, as nothing else in their simple lives could, the darkness that overcame him with thoughts of his past life. As the plants thrived under his care, the nightmares of Kanan's death and Gonou's murders receded, and Hakkai seemed to bloom with his flowers.

Gojyo himself had picked the first bouquet the second spring. Standing beside him at the kitchen counter, Hakkai had said nothing when Gojyo had taken a vase from the cabinet, filled it with water, and placed a handful of stems inside it. But his eyes had lit up, and he had paused in his dinner preparations to arrange the flowers more artfully than Gojyo saw how to. After dinner, Hakkai had absently fondled one blossom in the vase on their table and told Gojyo that he and Kanan had always kept flowers from their gardens in their home. His eyes had become misty and his expression far away. Then he had shaken the melancholy mood, smiled, and said, "Thank you, Gojyo." Gojyo couldn't have explained how that warm smile and simple thanks for a small and humble bouquet had shattered a long-locked shackle on his heart.

Their table was never without a vase of flowers after that, and when the blooms were plentiful enough, they graced the small table in the entryway and Hakkai's bedside table as well. Gojyo came to love the color and the perfume and to miss them during the drab winter months. He took great pleasure in helping Hakkai choose seeds this past winter, and he was thrilled to have spotted the first seedling to emerge in one of the windowsill teacups. He had spent more than one evening this summer quietly by Hakkai's side weeding and watering the flower beds and taking delight in each new flower to come into its season.

They would both miss the gardens on their upcoming journey with Sanzo. Hakkai had labored harder than usual during the past weeks' dry spell to keep the plants well watered; temperatures had climbed so high that the water evaporated within hours, and the clay soil became so dry and hard that water rolled right off if he didn't take time to loosen the soil around each plant. He worried whether the couple renting the cottage during their sojourn would continue to nurture the plants while they were away.

Rumbles of echoing sound reverberated almost constantly now, occasionally punctuated by louder claps of thunder and brilliant flashes of light. The thunder's growl seemed to surround the house. Impossible to tell from which direction the storm was coming. Gojyo crushed his second smoke in the ashtray and rose to go to the bathroom. The early morning sky had become darker instead of lighter. But still no rain.

On his way past the bedroom, Gojyo poked his head in, wondering at Hakkai sleeping through the oncoming storm. He was surprised to see the bed already made and Hakkai missing, although he hadn't yet appeared in the kitchen to put on the morning coffee.

As he returned to the living room, a huge multi-tentacled flash lit the sky. Gojyo mentally counted--_one, two, three_--before the associated clap of bone-rattling sound made him jump, even though he was waiting for it. The sound receded again into a continuous background rumbling as he went to the window, wondering whether this storm, too, would pass by them.

A brief, distant flash of lightning illuminated the gardens, where Hakkai walked among the flowers, pruners in one hand and a large bouquet of already cut blooms in the other. Gojyo shook his head, smiling. He seldom woke early enough to see Hakkai picking the flowers; they were already in vases when he awakened to the smell of coffee and the sounds of breakfast being made. Occasionally he caught Hakkai humming to himself as he arranged them, while the coffee percolated. Covertly watching him and listening to his off-key tunes had become one of the small pleasures that made him glad chance had brought this man into his life.

Today his eyes followed Hakkai through the garden, stooping every so often to pull an errant weed, checking blooms and choosing the best of each variety for his arrangement, seemingly oblivious to the approaching storm. Gojyo knew he would leave the flowers that were fully open in favor of those just on the verge of bursting from bud to blossom, and he found himself wondering why he knew that. When had he absorbed that knowledge from Hakkai? When had the flowers begun to matter to him enough to care? When, he mused, had the man who tended the flowers begun to matter to him even more than the flowers and the details of their daily life together?

Gojyo watched as Hakkai flinched, dropping several stems, when a deafening clap of thunder accompanied the next burst of light streaking across the sky. Hakkai made no move to come inside, first picking up the flowers and checking for damage, then turning his face to the sky, standing in awe of the ongoing display of light and sound surrounding him. A strong breeze had risen, ruffling the dark fringe of hair that spilled over his forehead. He smiled into the wind, and Gojyo felt his own smile grow, sharing the carefree moment.

In fall and winter, and especially in early spring, Hakkai became withdrawn and depressed when the rains came; but in summer, Gojyo realized, the flowers helped him through the storms, gave him a reason to appreciate the rain, helped him recall happier times. He was glad for that, glad that Hakkai had found something to bring him solace. He hoped their journey would not be overly long, that it would not greatly interrupt Hakkai's healing. It mattered to him, in ways he was just beginning to realize, that Hakkai's nightmares end and he be able to move on.

Another huge flash of lightning split the growing darkness, immediately followed by a deafening roar. "Jesus," muttered Gojyo, scared now that Hakkai had yet to come in. Gojyo watched what looked to be a wall of rain approach their house. The first large droplets were just beginning to fall into Hakkai's face when Gojyo yanked open the front door and called him.

Hakkai grinned and began to run as the skies opened overhead. By the time he reached the door, the initial drops had turned to solid sheets of water, blown diagonal by the rising wind. Hakkai was drenched by the time he ducked inside, handing the pruners to Gojyo. He shook the water off the flowers and brushed wet hair out of his eyes.

"Hey!" shouted Gojyo, spattered by droplets from the bouquet.

Hakkai laughed and swiped his wet hand on Gojyo's nightshirt.

"Hakkai! Stop it. You're soaked!"

"Yes, I am. You're so observant, Gojyo." He kicked his shoes off and jogged into the kitchen with the flowers. He already had a vase out and filled by the time Gojyo grabbed a towel from the bathroom and followed him.

While Hakkai separated the flowers on the counter, choosing the ones he wanted to place first, Gojyo toweled the water from his hair. "Did it ever occur to you to come in before the deluge?" he asked. He placed the damp towel over Hakkai's shoulders, rubbing his back and upper arms through the wet shirt. "You'll need to change when you finish that."

He looked over Hakkai's shoulder at the developing floral arrangement, absorbing the scent of the rain from his hair. "You smell good," he commented. "Fresh."

Hakkai turned toward him, smiling again, and--was it his imagination, or did Hakkai lean slightly back into him? Gojyo felt disoriented. "It feels good," he heard Hakkai say. "I'm so glad it finally rained. The gardens need it. I hope it continues all morning so the ground gets saturated. I'll feel better leaving this week knowing our plants are safe from the last of the summer heat before we go."

Gojyo felt a warm flush creep over his entire body. _ Our plants, _ he thought. He had never thought of them before as theirs, as a bond that linked them together. Hakkai busily continued assembling the bouquet, thankfully oblivious to Gojyo, who had backed a step or two away, confused by the dizzying feeling that had overtaken him, the persistent pounding in his chest. "I'll get you a dry shirt," he told Hakkai as he turned away, grateful for an excuse to leave the room.

Gojyo dawdled in the bedroom, rifling through Hakkai's shirts, absently deciding which to take out while he considered the unexpected feelings that had come over him in the kitchen. _This one,_ the thought came to him as his hand drifted over a dark green one. _It brings out his eyes_.

Gojyo froze, snapped from his absent reverie into over-awareness of the shirts and of his thoughts and feelings. As suddenly as the morning's storm had turned from an electrical show to a drenching downpour, he recognized and accepted that a slow-moving storm had blown through him over the last four seasons, altering his feelings for Hakkai. He knew that if they were to stay here, their lives together--for him at least--would be subtly but irrevocably different.

But they would leave in Jeep the day after tomorrow to travel west with Sanzo and Goku. A new adventure, new responsibilities, would begin. He had no idea how that would further change them.

He took the green shirt in to Hakkai. "Here," he said, watching for signs that the storm had brought similar revelations to his house mate.

Hakkai placed the last bloom into the vase, then carried it to the table. He stepped back to observe his handiwork, then stepped forward again to adjust one stem and slightly change the position of the vase. So very Hakkai, seeking perfection even in the placement of a casual bouquet.

He unbuttoned his wet shirt, then, and peeled it off; handed it to Gojyo and took the comfortably worn green one from him; did not react at all, that Gojyo could see, when their fingers brushed each other's during the exchange.

Gojyo held his breath for a moment, suppressing his own reaction. They had touched like this a thousand times before. Why so different today? The journey before them perhaps? Recognition, in the face of change, of the value the present held and a wish to cling to it?

He watched the muscles in Hakkai's arms bunch and stretch as he pulled the shirt on; noticed the slight roll of his shoulders and shift of his collarbone as he shrugged into the shirt; followed his hands, slender but strong, slipping from one button to the next.

"Would you put that in the laundry for me," Hakkai said. "I'll get breakfast."

"Sure," answered Gojyo, relieved that no unusual note in his voice betrayed his thoughts. He lingered a moment watching Hakkai's back at the kitchen sink, the rain in the window before him slowing to a steady patter. The thunder in Gojyo's chest and head slowed with it, and he turned toward their laundry closet. They were best friends. They would be traveling together soon with two others they called friends. He would do nothing, say nothing, that might upset the beauty and balance of that friendship.

He deposited the wet shirt on top of the washer and returned to the kitchen. Poured himself a mug of coffee. "What's for breakfast?" he asked.

"I picked the last of the blackberries before I got the flowers," said Hakkai. "I thought I'd make blackberry pancakes." He already had the griddle heating on the burner.

"Goku will be sorry he missed them," Gojyo observed. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Get the syrup and plates out."

Matter of fact. Just as always. Gojyo grabbed two plates from the dish drainer and the bottle of syrup from their small refrigerator, and set them on the table. Sat down to drink his coffee. An ordinary day. Their second last day in the small house he had called home for five years, but that had only begun to feel like home after Hakkai's arrival.

He leaned back, put his feet up on the chair opposite, and looked out the front window. The sun was struggling through scattered clouds that continued to spill light rain into the garden. A rainbow arched over the field across the lane.

Hakkai placed three large blackberry pancakes on his plate and followed his gaze out the window. "Pretty," he said. "A full arch. A good omen for our trip."

"Mmmm," agreed Gojyo. He picked up his fork and dug into the pancakes.

-- Owari --


End file.
